


Victory (on the Dancefloor)

by cROAissant, getmcrekt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: As Seen On TV, Dance Show AU, M/M, YOI Collab, assistant director/choreographer!Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cROAissant/pseuds/cROAissant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/getmcrekt/pseuds/getmcrekt
Summary: After a stroke of luck landed him a job working under renowned director Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri finds himself thrust into an unending chain of surprises.Phichit checked over his contract, and he was sure Yuuri was hired as an assistant director rather than Victor’s personal assistant. Whiny, condescending Victor, who was far too frank about everything and treated Yuuri like a slave. So far, the only perk to his job was full access to the dance studios.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the our fic for YOI Collab, with the theme "As Seen on TV". I'm cROAissant of Group 5, and it's my pleasure to present the first chapter of our fic. The link to the twitter moment compiling our works will follow in a few moments. I hope you enjoy our collab as much as we enjoyed making it!

Yuuri’s first love was dance.

 

At the tender age of three and a half, he snuck into one of his sister’s ballet classes and cried when one of the younger girls screeched at him for getting in the way of her fouette. Rather than listen to her cries of, “Go away! Boys aren’t allowed!”, he flashed his patented puppy eyes at Minako-sensei and the older girls, who relented immediately. Fifteen minutes and one frantic call from his mother later, and he had his own pair of teeny dancing shoes and a place in the barre lineup

 

From then on, he never stopped dancing. Even when Mari lost interest and quit. Even when Minako-sensei put him through increasingly advanced lessons. Even when the mean boys in his class teased him for his pink shoes and flowing costumes. With each twirl, each jump, each terribly painful blister on his overworked feet, Yuuri grew stronger and fell more and more in love with dance.

 

Yuuri’s second love was directing. And somehow, he found it through dancing.

 

More specifically, he found it through Victor Nikiforov, who surprised the world by using his charm and talent to leap from a promising career in acting and dance to a promising career in directing and choreography.

 

The first time Yuuri saw Victor, it was through Yuuko’s well-loved tape of her favorite movie, _The Lilac Fairy_. They would be performing a simplified version of the ensemble for their next recital, and she thought it would be best for them to see the original performance for inspiration.

 

He realized later that her actual motive was to get Yuuri as obsessed with the gorgeous lead so she would have someone to scream with. It worked spectacularly.

 

Yuuri was gone from the opening dance, the way then sixteen year old Victor’s hair flowed in the wind as he spun and jumped. How his eyes glowed, and his smile was adorably heart-shaped when he was happy. The way he moved like he commanded the music rather than the other way around. Victor was his new dream, and he would push himself to greater heights until he was worthy to dance on the same stage as him.

 

Yuuri was sixteen when had just arrived at the studio when Yuuko shoved the magazine in his face. _Victor Nikiforov Retiring?_ it read. The sound that came out of his mouth was inhuman, followed by wet and fiery hysterics. Both Minako-sensei and Yuuko had to take him upstairs to calm down.

 

If he had only taken the time to read the article in its entirety, Yuuri would have discovered that Victor was not retiring from show business. Rather, he was trading his place on screen for a questionably stable seat behind the camera.

 

Twenty-year-old Victor Nikiforov would be making his director’s debut with a musical, and he would choreograph every sequence himself.

 

Yuuri was no stranger to fan merchandise hoarding, but the release of the limited edition director’s cut of _Quickstep_ \- complete with director’s commentary - revived his manic fervor with a vengeance.

 

Armed with the power of the Internet, he dove into intense directing research. Precious Victor tended to forget that some of his viewers weren’t as familiar with the technicalities of cinema like he was. And Yuuri watched enough of his interviews to know that he wouldn’t adjust to anyone. So he took it upon himself to learned the intricacies of film to get the full Director Nikiforov experience.

 

Yuuri was eighteen and just weeks away from deciding his future, when he realized that his love for directing went past Victor. He poured himself into every film, television series, and live productions over the years; and every time, he imagined himself being the man behind it all.

 

And that was when Yuuri realised, he wanted to be a director.

 

He then made an important decision. For him to grow, he had to move away from the sleepy town of Hasetsu and into the States. Taking a deep breath, he finally took a big leap of faith. And the rest was history.

 

 

_____

 

  
Making history was easier said than done, of course. While his grades and film reviews earned him a few scholarships - least his ever struggling and developing English, there was more to being a good director than being in a good college, or reading a simple textbook. He needed networks.

 

That was when Phichit Chulanont appeared.

 

The Thai boy barreled into his life at the local dance studio one morning, looking far too ecstatic for such an early hour. “You must be Yuuri Katsuki! I’m Phichit Chulanont!” he chirped, shaking his hand vigorously, “Ciao Ciao’s told me so much about you.”

 

Ciao Ciao, or Celestino Cialdini, so happened to be one of the lecturers for the performing arts department, specialising in the dances. He also so happened to be Yuuri’s instructor in one of his elective dance modules. He and his wife just happened to co-own a studio down the street, the same one Phichit frequented for extra practice. He double majored in dance and businesses administration, he explained, and Ciao Ciao’s studio was the place to get a little training in both.

 

Yuuri was never actually alone when he sneaked in at one in the morning to dance the stress away, it seemed. Phichit was normally in charge of locking at at end of his shift; he waited for Yuuri to finish every time.

 

Phichit waved off his flustered apologies and immediately flooded Yuuri in compliments. He didn’t spare any detail, moving from his grace to his stamina and everything in between. Yuuri in turn attempted to redirect the sudden influx of gushing with questions about the dance program. And while it didn’t stop Phichit and his praises, striking a conversation with the excitable boy earned him an unlikely friend.

 

What Yuuri lacked in extraversion, Phichit made up for it in spades. He coached him through tedious public speaking requirements and helped him through dreadful, but yet very necessary, campus mixers.

 

“A good director needs connections Yuuri! Don't you think so?” he would say that every time Yuuri groaned and buried himself under the covers.

 

And while he wasn’t completely successful in making Yuuri the life of the party, Phichit wasted no time in becoming Yuuri’s one big source for connections, from the sprawling network of celebrities, to the producers in Los Angeles.

 

Not know to many, besides Yuuri, Celestino and a few close friends, Phichit’s father was a director at a music company. Even though Yuuri had insisted that he didn’t want to make use of Phichit that way, Phichit insisted that getting more connections outside of university was definitely needed for him to even land an internship. And his father could definitely help him with that.

 

Much to Yuuri’s amazement, it worked.

 

 

_____

 

  
“Yuuri Katsuki, get ready to grovel at my feet!” Phichit yelled, jumping on Yuuri’s back and clinging excitedly.

 

He cried, barely managing to grasp the jug he knocked over with his panicked gesticulation. Despite having long grown used to Phichit’s enthusiastic nature, Yuuri was never prepared for his infamous back glomp.

 

“Because you’ll get off of me and not recreate that scene from Shutter I hate so much?” he drawled, placing the fragile container back on the counter. He could sense his friend shaking in head in reply.

 

“But Yuuri, I think you might be interested in this!” Phichit said, no, literally sang.

 

He sighed. “Look, you don’t need to do this every time you need me for some sch- Wait? H-how did you get this?!”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened in astonishment as Phichit held small card in front of him with a smirk on his face, equal parts expectant and shit-eating.

 

“Told you I had my ways,” he winked.

 

Yuuri couldn’t believe his eyes. Less than three inches away from him was a lilac business card with Victor Nikiforov’s name dead center in elegant, gold script. On the bottom left, in smaller but no less impeccable font were his contact details. Yuuri was dreaming, this had to be a dream.

 

Apparently, he said this out loud because Phichit responded by thumping him on the back of the head. The surprise of the impact had Yuuri jumping, and Phichit jostling on his back. Despite their best efforts to maintain their balance, they soon ended up rubbing sore spots on the unforgiving floor.

 

“Ow,” Phichit whined. “I knew we should have gotten this place carpeted.”

 

Yuuri ignored him in favor of swiping the small card from where it landed next to the counter. He still couldn’t believe it. Phichit must have dug deep into his extensive network of questionable sources for this. Heaven knows it took very specific, and very powerful, people to snag the contact information of the most sought after directors in Los Angeles.

 

He pressed the card to his heart, collapsing on his back onto the floor and wailing unintelligibly.

 

Phichit indulged him a few moments of fanboy screaming before laughing in his expense. The combined cacophony of high-pitched keening and manic laughter was something their neighbors had gotten used to over the years, but nonetheless, Yuuri would have to remember to send them all cookies for bothering their quiet morning.

 

When Yuuri finally calmed himself from his state, Phichit reached into his bad once more. “God, Yuuri! If that’s how you react to the business card, I’m a little afraid of what noise you’ll make when I show you this.”

 

Instead of brandishing whatever it was in, Phichit threw the stapled sheets of paper lightly in his direction. They fluttered slightly in the air before landing right on his face. Unimpressed, he peeled it off his face and sat up carefully.

 

“Really, Phichit,” he began, his eyes skimming across the front page. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to top-- Holy shit!”

 

Phichit patted his shoulder calmly, “I don’t see any grovelling, Yuuri.”

 

In Yuuri’s quivering hand was an application form. One to become an assistant director to Victor Nikiforov.

 

 

_____

 

 

Phichit had been whining for most of the evening, and he wouldn’t let up until Yuuri submitted his application in.

 

“Look, he said, slamming the form against the back of his head. “All I need is your signature. I’ve lovingly prepared both your resume and filled out all your important information. Yuuri, please.”

 

“No,” he growled, his voice muffled against the kitchen counter he draped himself against. “Phichit, thank you, really. But I’m not doing this. I work in a library; I’m not an assistant director.”

 

Phichit spluttered, “Yes. You. Are. You just happen to be a broke, fresh graduate. You didn’t get a degree in hospitality. You got one in directing!”

 

He groaned, “I know, I know! But shouldn’t I start out somewhere… I don’t know, smaller? People don’t just become assistant director to the greatest director in history.”

 

He felt rather than saw his friend rolling his eyes in response. He heard Phichit sigh and rifle through the cupboards. The telltale sounds of his friend preparing tea followed. Yuuri smiled despite himself. Phichit was no stranger to Yuuri’s bouts of self-doubt, and he knew just what to do to help him.

 

He peeled the application form from his head and lifted himself off the counter and onto the couch, where Phichit’s hamsters happily scurried about. He wiggled into a comfortable position as three balls of fluff climbed over his head and shoulders. Phichit appeared with a steaming mug, and wasted no time in handing it to Yuuri. He let him take a few sips before starting.

 

“Yuuri, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here,” he said, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you don’t lose anything from trying.”

 

‘You don’t know that.”

 

“But I do!” he affirmed, grasping his shoulders firmly and meeting him in the eye. “Yuuri, you’re brilliant. I know it’s a huge leap,” his hold loosened and his face gentled, “but how are you gonna make your dream come true if you don’t take that first step.”

 

Yuuri sighed. “Get me pen before I change my mind.”

 

He received a confirmation e-mail the following day, and was called in called in for a preliminary interview a month later. In just over an hour, assistant producer Mila Babicheva would be judging his worthiness.

 

Surprisingly, that wasn’t the reason for Yuuri’s current freak out. Rather, it was due to the fact that his supposed best friend threw him inside their shared bathroom with a garment bag. From the other side, Phichit expressed his discontent. He wouldn’t be letting Yuuri out until he changed.

 

“You wore that hideous suit when you submitted your application form. You wore it in your graduation. You have wore it for every formal social event for the past five years. I am not letting you go out in that monstrosity ever again!”

 

He was overreacting, Yuuri thought. Just because his friend hated his simple black suit and blue-striped tie didn’t meant it was a fashion disaster.

 

Phichit howled. “That thing fits you horribly, and that tie should be burned.” he slammed the door open and thrust his finger right between Yuuri’s eyes. “Now wear that outfit I’ve lovingly selected for you, if not you’re not gonna meet your long-time idol, understand Katsuki Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri had the gall to correct him. “I’m meeting Mila Babicheva, Phichit. Not Victor.”

 

He raised his arms in disgruntlement. “Same thing. She’s his eyes and ears. If she likes you, so will he!”

 

“Come on, Phichit,” he scoffed. “What could they see in a dime-a-dozen aspiring director?”

 

  
_____

 

  
Despite his penchant for surprises, Victor Nikiforov lived a highly routine life. Rise with the sun, walk his precious Makkachin, grab a cup of coffee from his favorite cafe, and check his messages. His day would go two ways from there, he’d either get his regular updates from Mila regarding his latest project and follow a custom agenda or received scathing memos from his dearest mentor Yakov and report to Feltsman Productions. From the way his phone buzzed in irregular intervals, he deduced today would branch from the former.

 

 **Mila Babicheva**  
I just sent you an e-mail with your schedule for the week. Nothing major, but Yakov wants you in his office at 8:00, don’t be late!

 

 **Mila Babicheva**  
Oh, and please remember that your new assistant director isn’t your slave.

 

 **Mila Babicheva**  
I mean it, Victor. It’s not in his contract.

 

Ah, he nearly forgot about his new assistant director. Perhaps he thought that if he put it off long enough, then he wouldn’t need to hire one in the first place. Victor certainly didn’t need one.

 

The feeling wasn’t mutual.

 

His ears still rang from Yakov’s impressively long lecture regarding his workaholic tendencies from six months ago. “Vitya, you don’t just go directing, hosting, and choreographing,” he said, “choose one role and stick to it. You can’t keep doing this, you insufferable moron!”

 

Victor waved him off with a chuckle, “Yakov, you don’t expect me to thrust my creative vision onto someone else, do you? The only way I can trust things to go perfectly is if I take the lead. You more than anyone should understand that.”

 

Yakov responded with a long-suffering sigh. “You were always a difficult child.”

 

“I’m twenty seven!”

 

“Even worse, you should know better than to juggle all that work for some silly dance show!”

 

“Excuse me? It wasn’t some silly dance show when you jumped through every hoop you could so Lilia could be one of the judges.”

 

The petty back and forth that followed lasted much longer than their regular spats. While they were usually much more level-headed and easy to dismiss their arguments, they had been discussing Victor’s workaholic tendencies far too often lately. His dismissiveness and Yakov’s pushing were grating on both their nerves. And finally, Yakov put his foot down.

 

“I can’t trust you to keep at this without running yourself to the ground. We’re looking for an assistant director. You can at least relinquish that much.”

 

Six months later, and Victor was still reasonably certain that he could not. However, the man was hired and his pay was earmarked for the entire show’s run. He supposed this Yuuri Katsuki could be a valuable in the long run. If anything, he could fill Victor’s place in tedious meetings and buy him coffee.

 

He arrived on the set of Victory on the Dance Floor with his usual dramatic flair, with the handy doormen pushing double doors open to reveal his glorious visage for all of Feltsman Productions. It was a fine art honed through nearly two decades of practicing and generous Christmas bonuses. He strut through the halls, greeting and winking when appropriate - just another part of his routine. Though, something was noticeably different today. There usually wasn’t a cute brunet fidgeting outside his office. Victor took in the sight appreciatively.

 

Windswept, black hair framed his round face, cheeks covered in light dusting of pink. His eyes, framed by a pair of blue glasses, looked down at his leather-clad feet. He was slender, that much was evident from his modest cardigan and dark slacks combination. His in quivering grasp was a paper cup with a familiar logo. Victor quirked a brow. From the ID strapped to the cute man’s neck with the company lanyard, he supposed Mila took the liberty of ordering one of the staff to get his usual from the cafe. His lack of response to her string of texts must have made her assume he was running late. Oh well, one could never have too much caffeine in the morning.

 

“Medium soy quadruple shot latte, no foam?” he asked when he was in reasonable earshot. While he was sure he kept his tone genial, the man shot up like he was stuck my lightning and whipped his head toward him.

 

Oh.

 

His eyes were such a beautiful brown. They darted frantically around the hall until their finally settled back to him.

 

The staffer’s cheeks went from lightly flushed to flaming in a matter of seconds. It was endearing. At the other man’s lack of response, he elaborated. “The cup,” he gestured lightly, “is that what’s in it?”

 

The other man - and he really wished he would move his arms so Victor could read his ID - blinked, as if just now realizing that he was being talked to. He looked down at his hands before shaking his head slowly.

 

“Um, no… green tea.”

 

He chucked, “I suppose Mila’s concerned with my coffee intake again?” He grumbled, “You get an ulcer once and suddenly, everyone thinks you’re a child.”

 

The staffer cocked his head, humming in confusion. Victor pasted on his most comforting grin in response. It wasn’t his fault that Victor’s assistant gave him the wrong drink order.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll just have a little chat with Mila about this. For future reference, I prefer coffee to tea,” he stepped forward and took the cup from his hands. “I’m not letting your effort go to waste, of course. It was kind enough for you to get he something on her behalf.”

 

“Um.. but…” he stared at him bemusedly.

 

Victor hummed, the cup half-way to his lips. The staff normally disappeared off to another menial task before he could so much as blink. It certainly explained why he couldn’t recall ever seeing the beautiful man before.

 

So he jumped to the most reasonable conclusion. It’s happened a few times before. “Did you want a commemorative photo? I’m sure the other staff will believe you got me tea regardless, but I wouldn’t mind you wanted to take one.”

 

The man gasped, and Victor noticed that he could now read his ID. He flashed him a playful smile, “What do you say… Yuur - oh!”

 

Well, this was certainly an interesting way to meet his new assistant director.

 

  
_____

 

 

 **VoDOfficial**  
[image description: twelve dancers striking their fiercest poses with Victor power posing in the center. “Victory on the Dance Floor” in silver font is printed across the series poster.]  
Are you ready to watch one of these fourteen aspiring dancers #MakeHistory? Share your thoughts on the year’s hottest dance show with the hashtag #VoD

 

 **v-nikiforov**  
[image description: a selfie of Victor, winking at the camera. In the background are the mirrored walls of the dance studio.]  
The competition starts for real next week, are you ready? #VoD #IntroWeek

 

 **thiccforov**  
Y’all, vod is my new favorite show. Did you see that opening number? Classic VikNik right there!! *heart eyes emoji*

 

 **OnPointe**  
_thiccforov_ We’re calling it vod now?

 

 **thiccforov**  
_OnPointe_ character limits honey. Anyway, it sound like god, and Victor IS god.

 

 **VikkiNik**  
_thiccforov OnPonte_ But there were some parts that were idk, kinda off???

 

 **thiccforov**  
_VikkiNik OnPonte_ true, especially the Emil  & Mickey part, like it's v.gd, but just not Vic???

 

 **DancerBae**  
_VikkiNik thiccforov_ how can you even tell???

 

 **OnPointe**  
_DancerBae_ oh babe u must be new  
_thiccforov VikkiNik_ assistant director maybe *thinking emoji*

 

 **VikkiNik**  
_OnPointe thiccforov_ Victor Nikiforov, The Living Legend™, hiring an assistant director??? So not him

 

 **thiccforov**  
_VikkiNik OnPoint_ e agreed *laughing emoji*

 

 **phichit+chu**  
[image description: Yuuri using his arms as a pillow and drooling on a stack of papers]  
first week on the job as assistant director with first ep being a success! good job _yurikatsuki_ <3

 

 **yurikatsuki**  
_phichit+chu_ get that off the Internet!

 

 **phichit+chu**  
_yurikatsuki_ no! maybe now your boss will actually recognize you this time [laughing emoji]

 

  
_____

 

  
Being Victor Nikiforov’s assistant director wasn’t exactly living up to Yuuri’s expectations. In fact, it was the exact opposite. He expected all the grunt work; he knew there was more to directing than the glamorous life that Victor shared on Instagram. He just assumed that he wouldn’t be the only one working ‘til he dropped. Instead, Victor spent all his time editing footage, practicing his hosting speeches, and choreographing for every contestant. Meanwhile, Yuuri got stuck with script editing, logistics, handling contestant squabbles, and - this one pained him the most - serving the Living Legend his morning coffee.

 

Phichit checked over his contract, and he was sure Yuuri was hired as an assistant director rather than Victor’s personal assistant. Whiny, condescending Victor, who was far too frank about everything and treated Yuuri like a slave. And that’s exactly what he was - a slave, salvaging every little problem Victor created.

 

All he got in return were cold smiles, day-long orders, and condensing comments. Sure, the Victor Nikiforov was very much the genius Yuuri knew him to be - simultaneously directing, choreographing, producing, and hosting the top-rating show - but he was far more human in real life.

 

Yuuri was tired and frustrated, but mostly tired. Above everything that annoyed him about his boss, him being a shameless, rabid workaholic topped the list. He hadn’t worked regular hours since his first day. Despite being an expert in staying up and cramming weeks’ worth of work in a single night, Yuuri always compensated for the resulting stress by sleeping in.

 

Now, he’d been reporting for work any time between four and nine in the morning with barely any warning but a text. He was sure he’d be far more grateful and substantially less of an asshole if he got sleep. But right now, he was a grouchy blob of slave stress. One that had been waiting in line for fifteen minutes past midnight because his boss required coffee.

 

Yuuri yawned widely and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He understood from the beginning that being assistant director wouldn’t be easy. Anyone would kill for his position, working under the Victor Nikiforov was a lifetime opportunity. This was his dream, what he strived for nearly half his life. He wasn’t going to waste it. Menial tasks aside, Yuuri was getting the training and experience he needed for the field. He wouldn’t quit just because it was harder than he thought it would be.

 

On the bright side, the show broke records every week, with the last three episodes receiving top ratings worldwide. Victory on the Dance Floor continuously topped trending lists and was all anyone talked about across multiple social media platforms. They were rumored to win several awards, and the show wasn’t even half over.

 

“You sure took your time, Yuuri,” Victor drawled as he handed him a steaming cup of pretentious-sounding drink mix, “Did you forget there was a cafe right next to the studio?”

 

Despite being graced with the glorious image of Victor Nikiforov in his training attire, lounging elegantly on his office couch, Yuuri grit his teeth and replied coldly, “There was a long line.”

 

Victor raised a perfect brow skeptically, “At twelve thirty-seven in the morning?”

 

 

“You’re not the only workaholic in LA,” he shrugged.

 

He hummed against the cup, “I suppose not.”

 

Victor sipped his drink for a moments, leaving a pregnant silence between them. All the while, Yuuri fidgeted as his boss’ blue, blue eyes bore into him.

 

“Do you… do you need anything else?” Yuuri asked. He knew better than to leave without being dismissed again. The last time he did, Victor bombarded him on every messaging platform until be returned - panicked and disheveled.

 

Victor set his coffee aside and lay back down on his couch. He put a manicured finger against his lips and contemplated Yuuri’s query before he said, “Not right now. I guess that means you’re free to go~”

 

His familiar plastic smile made Yuuri think otherwise, but it was good enough of a dismissal as any. With a final nod, he bid his boss a good night… er, morning, and left his office.

 

“I’ll be expecting you bright and early tomorrow!” Victor called before he could fully shut the door.

 

Yuuri groaned. Maybe he should just sleep in one of the dance studios; he had access to all of them anyway. Heaven knows, Victor would be calling him at some ungodly hour for some other mundane task. Perhaps he could dance away the stress he was feeling before getting a few (but hopefully, more) hours of sleep.

 

  
_____

 

  
There was a full moon that night, and it showed in the way its silver rays illuminated his office. Victor was not normally one to keep himself in the dark, but he thought the natural light would help him sort through the problems he found in next week’s routines. No such luck.

 

The choreography wasn’t bad per se; he hadn’t created anything cringe-worthy since the VMAs from twelve years ago. And even that met critical acclaim thanks to a great publicity team and his own Nikiforov brand bullshit. No, these routines were beautiful.

 

But they just weren’t enough.

 

Try as he might, he just didn’t have the right inspiration and it was starting to show in his work. Victor couldn’t have that, not with how well the show was doing. The fans were more perceptive than most gave them credit for; they nitpicked every detail and noticed things even the studios tended to look over. It would be horrible for everyone if they caught hint his problem. Victor had to entertain them, and part of that was bringing forth the best he could and giving them more than they expected.

 

He’d long left the dance studio to mull around in his office, the cup of coffee his dear assistant (director) purchased for him long finished. Gazing out the window, he considered getting some fresh air up on the roof; it’d never worked before, but perhaps it would now. Not bothering to lock his door, he scaled the steps to his destination in contemplative silence. Pushing open the heavy door, fully expecting the see the usual dull concrete and blinding lights of Los Angeles, he was instead blessed with the most intriguing sight.

 

A man’s trim, yet soft figure was illuminated by the pale moonlight, his steps light and movements like water. A spin, a leap, the figure floated across his stage. The moonlight only softened his features further, now free of the scrunched frustration that Victor smirked at regularly. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, how difficult he had been making Yuuri’s life, and how he didn’t notice him sooner.

 

Victor knew Yuuri Katsuki; he was adorable and hardworking, and practically a saint if Yakov and Mila were concerned. He was talented, yes, his resume and current performance proved as much. But this man. This man in dancing before him was more than he could have even imagined.

 

Yuuri Katsuki was breathtaking, he was… he was magical. The way he moved, even the most insignificant flicks of the wrist, created music. Victor could feel his heart race as the deity before him danced, barely containing his awe with every leap, every turn. At last, he’d found it, his inspiration. It came in sparks... in flashes... in waves. It consumed him, and Victor would gladly drown in it if it meant he could continue feeling this way.

 

Could it be?

 

Was he falling in love?

 

He shook his head dismissively. No, it was far too early to consider love into the equation. He admired him, sure, but it wasn’t love just yet. All that mattered was that Victor found his inspiration, and for it to keep going, he’d need Yuuri to stay close to him.

 

Oblivious Yuuri took no notice of the man who gaped openly in admiration of him, who watched him float and leap across the concrete rooftop to calm his nerves. He hadn’t seen the gears in Victor’s head turn a mile a minute, considering all the factors to his plan.

 

  
_____

 

  
Short of breath and halfway to a panic attack, Yuuri fidgeted impatiently as his bus crawled to its next stop. If it weren’t a horribly wet day, then he would have just bolted for it and ran the distance to Feltsman Productions. However, his bedhead and haphazard dress were horrible enough without being soaked to the bone.

 

He technically wasn’t due for work for another hour, but a text at six in the morning had him catapulting out of bed and doing a five-minute abridgement of his morning routine.

 

 **Victor Nikiforov**  
I’ve changed your work schedule up a bit. Come to the studio in thirty minutes  <3

 

Yuuri’s alarm woke him at eight. His phone told his it was currently eight thirty one; he was a dead man. Victor had been far less unpredictable over the past week, allowing Yuuri to have regular work hours and being too much of an imposing presence in his life. However, it was apparently just to lower Yuuri guard for the unexpected.

 

At long last, the bus pulled over at his stop. He bounced from one foot to the other as he waited for the door, and dashed out before it opened fully. He raced along the halls, skillfully avoiding the other harried working and silently cursing the production studio layout. The dance studios just had to be on the very end of the building, huh?

 

He shoved the double doors open, “I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept and-!”

 

In his haste, Yuuri forgot that Victor wouldn’t be the only one at the studio that morning. Eight contestants, a small filming group, and several ensemble dancers looked up from their personal business at stared at his heaving form. In fact, the only person who wasn’t staring at him was Victor himself, stance nonchalant but radiating slightly with impatience. Yuuri feared the worst.

 

Nevertheless, he squared his shoulders, mostly ignored the curious eyes following his movements, and inched toward Victor. He stopped short when the man finally turned toward him with a half salute and his ever-present media smile.

 

"Well, good morning Yuuri,” he chirped, “I have to say you’re impressively late. Only Aeroflot has kept me waiting this long.”

 

Yuuri blanched and stuttered the beginning of another apology. However, before he could get the word out, he found himself being pulled into the dressing room. If he wasn’t too confused, then the fact that Victor Nikiforov was holding his hand would have made him scream. Instead, Yuuri stumbled along with his boss’ long, elegant strides. Finally, they stopped by a locker that surprisingly had a small plaque bearing his name.

 

Victor took a long look at him from head to foot before frowning.

 

“Yuuri,” he began, his tone admonishing, “I know you’re supposed to be dancing in comfortable clothing, but you never know which scenes from rehearsal I’ll be picking to show for the recap. You have to look the part all the time. Thankfully, Mila prepared for this and there’s a decent set of clothing for you.” Then in lower, whinier voice, he added, “I would’ve preferred you in red, but black was all she could get on such short notice…”

 

Wait, what? Why would he need to change?

 

Evidently, he said this allowed, because Victor flashed him another dazzling smile and reached an arm out to him. “You, dear Yuuri, are going to be my co-choreographer. Together, we’ll take these blundering ducklings and turn them into swans!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**VoDOfficial**

Missed #OnLoveWeek? Never fear, catch reruns of your favorite dance battles on Victory on the Dance Floor’s official website: [shortened link]

 

**Yuri_angels**

So thankful Yurochka powered through his bad week and wasn’t eliminated *prayer emoji* #IceTiger #VoD #OnLoveWeek

 

**thiccforov**

God, this week’s episode was tense! Emil was a robot. JJ was a king. Yuri had a timeout worthy tantrum. And Mickey went byebye *crying emoji* #VoD #OnLoveWeek

 

**OnPointe**

_thiccforov_ I’m sad, but I see why though. We’re almost at the halfway point, and he’s been safe in the middle from the beginning.

 

**mickyursofine**

Mickey was robbed! That bratty blonde half-pint shouldn’t been axed instead. He did a great and dedicated his whole routine to his sister but still lost out to anger personified???? #OnLoveWeek #mypoorboi

 

**Yuri_angels**

_mickysofine_ EXCUSE YOU. Your little knight in shining armor proclaimed his love for this sister and you’re not concerned??

 

**mickyursofine**

_Yuri_angels_ What? So now people can’t love their sisters?!

 

**JJGirls**

_Yuri_angels mickyursofine_ Okay children, take your argument away from the Internet. You don’t want anyone getting receipts. Let’s just all bask in JJ’s win this week, k? #JJStyle #VoD #OnLoveWeek

 

**ThankVoD**

_JJGirls_ I would, darling, but something far more important came up in the vod world.

 

**ThankVoD**

[image description: a slight blurry, cropped from the waist photo of Yuuri in shiny leather - back arched, his arms swiping to the right, hair swept upward by his uncapture movement, and face perfectly serene ]

Can we all please talk about the new lead ensemble dancer? I love him. I need him. #HotDancerBoi

 

**DancerBae**

_ThankVod_ get in line, bitch. I need 27 of him.

 

**LeRay**

_DancerBae ThankVoD_ what would you do with 27 of him?

 

**DancerBae**

_LeRay_ use your imagination *smirking emoji* *eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*

 

**OnPointe**

Okay, but who tf is he? Why don’t I know who he is??? Why hasn’t anyone corrected _ThankVoD_ and explained that ensemble leads aren’t a thing? Why does he look like an angel?

 

**thiccforov**

Holy duck, y’all! That’s Victor’s assistant director. His name is Yuuri Katsuki.

 

**thiccforov**

he’s got some short films and choreography under his belt, and he’s Victor’s frakking assistant director!!!!

 

**VikkiNik**

_thiccforov_ HOW? WHO? WHY IS AN ASSISTANT DIRECTOR DANCING?

 

**ThankVoD**

Everyone fucking look at this post from _phichit+chu_ from a million years ago. Heck, look at all this posts!!! IT’S YUURI!!

 

**yUUUUUUUURI**

i found a new son/daddy, and his name is Yuuri Katsuki

  


* * *

 

  


Victor scrolled through his Twitter feed with the smug pride of a cat with a canary in its jaws. He could say with reasonable certainty that highlighting Yuuri’s choreography in VoD was his best decision to date. Not only did he regain his inspiration a hundred fold, but his darling Yuuri was receiving the acclaim he deserved.

 

Why the man’s name took to so long to circulate through social media was beyond him. Just the way Yuuri moved on a regular basis deserved its own award, let alone how he choreographed and danced. Nonetheless, Yuuri was the  fourth - just below _Victory on the Dance Floor_ and the most amusing reaction to their new partnership.

 

It seemed some of the fans shipped them. Hard. barely a day after Yuuri’s television debut and they already had a portmanteau couple name: victuuri. The fanwork poured out faster than anything Victor had ever seen. Their ratings were shooting through the roof, and even those who weren’t initially fans of the show were on the edge of their seats.

 

And it was all because of sweet, perfect Yuuri twirling in and impressing everyone with his charms.

 

He snorted, perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself. VoD’s success was more than just Yuuri’s efforts, of course. The contestants, staff, and his own work attributed to their viewership as much as Yuuri’s presence did, but someone had to give Yuuri credit where it was due. The man himself never did. One would think that overnight fame would have inflated Yuuri’s ego a little, but it wasn’t so. Rather, he shied away from any praise and flushed at the barest hint of a compliment. Even his barely-existing social media presence was all humility.

 

**yuurikatsuki**

Thank you all for your kind words. We have a great week ahead for you. Please continue supporting _v-nikiforov_ and _VoDOfficial_!

 

Victor smiled. He supposed Yuuri was still acclimating to his newfound fame. He would have to learn how to deal with his fanbase sooner or later though. It was only a matter of time before raging fans began throwing themselves at his feet, before opportunistic producers sank their claws into him, before some flighty men or women decided he would be the perfect living accessory.

 

“Victor?” Yuuri’s voice cut through his brooding. “Is something wrong? The break you called ended ten minutes ago.”

 

Victor starred, taking in his assistant’s flushed cheeks and shining eyes - the concern in his small frown - his resolve hardened. Powering off his phone and standing in one fluid motion, he threw a reassuring smile in Yuuri’s direction.

 

“It’s nothing, just got a little distracted by Twitter.”

 

Before Yuuri could reply, he took his hand and rubbed his thumb across his knuckles gently. He chuckled at Yuuri’s little squeak, and pulled him forward.

 

“We should go then,” he said, by way of explanation. “I’ve kept them waiting.”

 

Yuuri was meant for great things, and Victor would make sure he got to the top without losing any of that humble sweetness.

  


* * *

  
  


Victor could admit it, his had gone a little soft for Yuuri Katsuki. He couldn’t bear to see his adorable assistant director (now also his beautiful co-choreographer) struggle though so much work. He understood the irony of his sentiments, but Yuuri’s wellbeing was a separate matter from his own. The show was past its halfway point, and lessening his workload seemed like a reasonable decision.

 

After all, Yuuri shined through his dancing, and Victor had been against an assistant director from the beginning. Yuuri was calmer now than he had been behind the camera, happier too.  He didn’t mind doing the grunt of the work if it meant Yuuri could keep doing what he loved. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact he could now openly bask in Yuuri’s presence in the dance studio. That now he had ample time to talk to him as equals and develop a personal relationship. No, that was just a bonus.

 

“Yuuri, it’s lunchtime! Why are you still here?” Victor’s smooth baritone voice boomed across the silent office, making Yuuri turn to face him, eyes wide.

 

“Umm...I-I thought the scripts could use a last-minute scan,” he stuttered guiltily. “Not that I don’t think you wouldn’t get them done. I just wanted to take a little off your hands.”

 

Oh dear, he was a perfectionist after his own heart, an artist honing his craft. But he should be relaxing after a hard morning of dance, he wouldn’t last the whole afternoon session otherwise.

 

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself like this too much.” he reprimanded, wagging a finger playfully in his face. He took the papers and pen from Yuuri’s grasp, and set them on the far side of the desk.

 

He unlocked his phone and places it in Yuuri’s hands. “You’re clearly worried about me not doing my fair share of work. Here, I’ll look through them now and finalize next week’s script. How about you look through my e-mails if you insist on working through lunch?” Victor’s voice softened as he placed a comforting hand on Yuuri’s empty one, using using his thumb to stroke it gently.

 

Yuuri’s expression contorted into what one could describe as bewildered, hesitant and flustered at the same time. Not exactly what Victor was expecting. However, it smoothed into one of resignation before Yuuri replied, soft and nervous.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

If Victor thought he couldn’t fall for Yuuri any more, he was dead wrong.

 

After an hour of paperwork, Victor finally managed to drag Yuuri into the cafeteria for some food. They spent their time discussing that week’s programs and creating the framework for the successive weeks ahead. It carried onto the afternoon practice session, where they spent more time together than apart, demonstrating the pair routines for their half-awed, half-frustrated contestants. They worked well into the evening as they did every night since he’d given Yuuri his new role. They talked and laughed, and Victor learned more about Yuuri than he would ever had if he kept the gorgeous man stuck doing menial tasks.

 

Victor relished every moment. And form the way he smiled and unconsciously lean into him, Yuuri felt the same. When they were together, everything was magical, like they were soulmates finally reunited. Later that night, as a sleeping Yuuri snuggled against Victor’s side where they were sat the cold wooden floor of the studio, Victor felt like everything was falling into place.

  


* * *

 

  


After a surprising double elimination that left Seung-gil Lee in tears, the final four remained. Christophe Giacometti, Otabek Altin, Jean-Jacques Leroy, and Yuri Plisetsky would have to duke it out to reach the finals and the tension had spread to every corner. Especially Feltsman Productions. Everyone needed a break, _everyone_ , even Victor would admit that he wanted nothing more than to shut himself in his penthouse with his baby and sleep for a week. God knows, Makkachin would start thinking the dog sitter was her Daddy with his extended absences.

 

The only person who rivalled Victor’s stress levels was Yuuri. Gone were his carefree grins and elated laughter. If anything, his stoic behavior as of late was infinitely worse than how he’s been when he began working for the production company. He was focused, but eternally frustrated, his face set in an unreadable downturn of lips. He kept everyone at an arm’s length, Victor especially. It was a jarring contrast to their relationship just a month prior, when some part of their bodies - hands, hips, shoulders - always touched.

 

It concerned him, but couldn’t dwell on the situation for too long. As a key player in all this, albeit one behind the scenes, Victor needed to concentrate on the show. He would have time to play detective when the show came to a close.

 

But later that day, his soft Yuuri returned with a vengeance and approached him after rehearsal.

 

“Hey, Victor?” he called, voice soft but with an alien undertone of stiffness. “Do you want to get a bite at SayoKubo’s before heading home?” At Victor’s quirked brow, he added, with a pretty blush. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

 

That definitely took Victor off guard. It felt like a rather strange but bold move on Yuuri’s part, to so suddenly ask him out like this. A part of him - one much larger than he cared to admit - was hoping the man had finally caught on to his subtle hints and nudges. The cast, crew, and all their mothers had by now. Of course, Victor shouldn’t dismiss any possibility outside of what he was hoping for, but a man could dream.

 

They met by the studio entrance that evening, Victor having called a an early night for everyone to rest and get their energy up for the next day after which he shoved all his belongings in his expensive leather bag, made himself date-presentable, and rushed to their meeting spot. Despite knowing that it was more like a professional dinner meeting than a date, it wouldn’t do to look and smell like he’d had a long day. With a last stroke at his grey jacket, he sauntered out of his office to where Yuuri would be.

 

Despite being right in the middle of December, LA was never cold per se. It had its frigid nights, but nothing noteworthy that would induce a quick cuddle or a closeness in proximity. With both he and Yuuri walking at least a foot apart, lugging their work things along after a tiring day and barely making any conversation, it wasn’t exactly the ideal romantic setting. But beggars can’t be choosers, so Victor would take what he could get out of this.

 

Yuuri was beautiful in the glow of the city lights. They made him almost ethereal, like a deity about to lay its claim on the poor, sinful earth. The image was marred somewhat by the morose frown on his beautiful face, as well as his tight grip on his large backpack. He was nervous, Victor could tell, tense to the bone and anxiety gearing to swallow him up. He smiled; it must have taken a lot out of Yuuri to ask him to dinner like this. It wouldn’t do to call attention to it. Yuuri had enough to worry about without him being an ass. He wouldn’t dwell on it, but he would make sure to be gentle and encouraging all through the meal. It was the least he could do.

 

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at their destination, the small, but cosy cafe that had become one of their regular haunts over the past few weeks. Despite being the unofficial hub for celebrities, it stuck to its humble charms. There was a rumor that all of Hollywood made a pact to keep the place a secret and to keep the place going for as long as possible. Victor respected that. It was unsurprisingly empty for that time of night; there would be a rush of people later that evening and in the early morning. It was easy of them to find their own private corner to chat.

 

Their uncomfortable silence from earlier reared its ugly head once they settled and ordered. It continued onto when the kind-faced waitress set their food down in front of them with a quick wink. Victor felt a wave of uncertainty at Yuuri’s expression.

 

Neither of them ate much, both of them mostly picking at their hearty meals. When he made his third mashed potato mountain, Victor realized he couldn’t take it any longer.

 

Finally he asked, “Yuuri, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

 

Yuuri smiled for the first time that evening, a mockery of his gorgeous bright grin tinged in sadness. The tight grip on his utensils shook at little before he said.

 

“After Victory on the Dance Floor, let’s end this.”

 

He could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. Before he could get his bearings, torrential waves of emotion hit him like the world’s most horrible tsunami. Of them all, one stood out the most: confusion.

 

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Victor questioned as calmly as he could, though but he could hear his voice waver and his eyes starting to water. Yuuri’s equally puzzled expression and answering tone didn’t make him feel any better.

 

“I came here thinking that I would gain directing experience. But… then you put in in choreography and all but released me from directing altogether. That must mean I’m not doing a good enough job to help you,” Yuuri bit his lip in an attempt to keep it from wobbling. He bit out, “You won’t need me after the show, so it’s best we settle things now.”

 

Victor, on his last attempts to appear collected and salvage whatever partnership they had built thus far, could only smile and speak what was on his mind at the moment.

 

“Y-Yuuri. I don’t know if you realised this, but I’ve always found you brilliant in whatever you’ve done. After that disaster of a first meeting, I went through your resume again and couldn't believe I had someone so amazing working under me. Believe me when I say you did a spectacular job,” his words were gentle, his voice calming. He hoped Yuuri would understand. “But then I saw you dancing on the rooftop one night, I saw you for what you really were - a dancer. Yuuri, why put all that to waste to direct?”  

 

It was then Victor had realised what he had just said, and before he could apologise for being so brash, he was greeted with wide eyes and the look of silent screaming. Before he could reach out to Yuuri, he was already out of his seat and scrambling the door in panic. Almost immediately, Victor felt the walls of his composure finally crashing down. All of his life, never had he ever felt guilty or upset for messing something up that badly.

 

And now on this particularly warm December evening, Victor found himself alone in a coffee shop making a mess of himself, and he only had himself to blame.

  


* * *

 

  


When Yuuri applied to become Victor’s assistant director, he expected to be thrust into the world of bigtime directing without room to breathe. He hadn’t been wrong. When he wasn’t being a glorified servant boy, he was up at ungodly hours doing a myriad of show-related work. It mostly calmed down once Victor practically had him move into the dance studio; it wasn’t any less tiring, but it was much less stressful by far.

 

He and Victor developed a comfortable relationship over their shared time working as equals. He hadn’t taken Victor seriously at first, when he said they would become co-choreographers. But they were just that. Dancing together, spending the same amount of time creating and polishing every move until they were satisfied. He found himself enjoying the extended hours in Victor’s company. And if his much more genuine heart-shaped smiles and casual touches were any indication, Victor felt the same way.

 

If Yuuri were to be perfectly honest, his little celebrity crush on Victor - one he’d been harboring for half his life - had developed into something more personal, and so much more real. But, of course, he doubted Victor felt the same way. What would the great Victor Nikiforov see in a dime-a-dozen director wannabe like him?

 

But he digressed, working with Victor was probably the best thing to ever happen in his twenty four years of existence, and yet… it felt wrong. While he loved his work as a choreographer (the added pay wasn’t bad either), he didn’t feel like he was doing the job he was meant for. At least he was doing work that somehow related to film directing when he was Victor’s pseudo slave. But along with his sudden new role, Victor began cutting his assistant directing work. He thrust everything on himself, leaving Yuuri to stare blankly as he clocked in far more hours than he should be.

 

What happened?

 

He was sure he’d been doing more than a decent job for him in the beginning. He made sure to keep his complaints to himself and only spoke out when he knew he could. But maybe he’d just been deluding himself; perhaps Victor threw him into choreography and cut his assistant director work because he wasn’t good enough?

 

It made sense. Yuuri was nothing compared to Victor. He was good, but not good enough. Yuuri had always thought that about himself, and it seemed Victor did too. And if one of the best in the industry thought so, then who was Yuuri to think otherwise?

 

The negative thoughts swirled into his consciousness, constantly screaming in the back of his mind. They grew exponentially the closer they got to the finale, steadily being backed up by criticism from Victor’s fans. He knew what they all felt, the rumors they were spreading. How he was the unprofessional hack who was using Victor for leverage into show business. How his sudden switch in duties were taking its toll on Victor, and it showed. How he was taking Victor from the world.

 

They shouldn’t matter, Yuuri knew, but he listened regardless. It wasn’t just him being affected by all this.

 

“How are Yurio and… Jene doing on their numbers, Yuuri?” Victor asked as they made their way out of the the studio that evening.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

He jumped, so deep in thought that he hadn’t realized he was being spoken to.

 

“Um well, I guess they’re… ermm, okay…”

 

Yuuri crushed the ache in his chest when he realized just what he had to do to fix this mess. He then realised that it was only right that he settled the matter once and for all. Right now, on a Friday evening, temporarily away from the hustle and bustle of work.

 

“Hey, Victor? Do you want to get a bite at SayoKubo’s before heading home? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

 

Hours later, with a worried Phichit calling him from behind his locked door, Yuuri sobbed. All the while, he convinced himself this would all be for the best. Victor would find someone worthy of his time and effort sooner or later, someone much better than plain of him. If he thought the world of Yuuri, then there was no doubt he would find someone else. Yuuri’s tears had nothing to do with the fact he was in love with Victor, that he wanted to stay close to him. No, they were just because he was upset at the lost opportunity.

 

At least, that was what he told himself.

  


* * *

 

  


The old man and the name stealer had unresolved sexual tension. It was more than obvious from the day Katsudon leapt into the dance studio and was greeted by Victor’s horrible Aeroflot joke. Yuri hated every bit of it. Victor’s terrible flirting and Katsuki’s flustered reactions, unnecessary touching and yearning looks, always messed with the competitive atmosphere and distracted the fans from what was really important: him. He worked too hard to lose this chance. There was no fucking way he would lose his chance at fame to two grown men who skirted around each other like a high school drama.

 

He didn’t know how much like a drama it would become until he entered Studio 4 the week before the semi-finals, where a different kind of tension surrounded the two. The kind you needed a chainsaw you cut through. They wore equally unreadable expressions, standing as far away from each other as they could and conversing in disjointed phrases and a handful of words. Their new distance would have been a vast improvement if not for the fact that their solemn atmosphere was affecting everyone else.

 

Even JJ, as arrogant and egocentric as he is, couldn’t help but focus more on the two. He slammed his face into a wall mid-routine as a result. And rather than laugh at his misfortune, Yuri just looked on at their choreographers in mild concern.

 

God, it was like the whole fucking world depended on these two for happiness.

 

The tension and dreariness carried onto the afternoon, the distance between the two growing by the minute, and Yuri was about ready to commit a crime. Instead, he turned his gaze to resident gossip, and far too sexual contestant, Christophe Giacometti.

 

“So,” he hissed, as they trekked to the dressing rooms. “what do you think happened between Katsuki and that old man?” He met the man’s puzzled look and pressed on, “Like why suddenly the cold shoulder? Why the quiet? Aren’t usually _pining_ for each other?”

 

Their stream of questions were interrupted with a loud scoff and obnoxious laughter.

 

“It’s an adult thing, baby Plisetsky,” JJ crowed. “Why pay attention to their love affair when you can concentrate on the one, the only, KING-!”

 

“Shut the fuck up JJ! I’m gonna kick your ass in this competition. I wasn’t even asking you, so get lost,” he growled. Turning back to Chris, he continued. “But yeah, we need to fix whatever is wrong with them. We’ll save whatever’s wrong with JJ after he loses.”

 

An unexpected voice cuts in before JJ can continue his monologue.

 

“The coffee shop owner down the street said they had a falling out. Katsuki walked out, and Victor had some kind of emotional breakdown.”

 

Everyone turned their heads in response to the deep voice in the room, one belonging to stoic Otabek, the quiet, dark horse of the season. Otabek calmly continued, staring at Yuri intensely.

 

“There’s no use getting them together. We’ll have talk to them separately if we want any progress. It’s better that we get someone who can ask them head on, rather than beat around the bush. Sorry Chris.”

 

The blonde chuckled, “None taken.”

 

He hummed for a moment, looking among the other three in their group. “JJ won’t do… I don't think Victor even remembers your name.” he ignored the man’s balking and flicked his gaze between Yuri and Otabek. “Between you two, I think Yuri will have better chances of getting something out of them.”

 

“Wait, me?” he screeched. “Of all people, why are you asking me to solve their issues?”

 

“You’re the most invested,” Otabek pointed out.

 

All Yuri could do was exclaim in shock. Of all the people in this room, Otabek was the one to betray him like this. Some friend he turned out to be. Before he could argue further, the group made their unanimous decision. Fuck his life.

 

* * *

 

  


Their choreographers’ stupidity persisted until one day before the finale, where all the tension accumulated to unbearable levels. They moved on from short verbal answers to short texts and careless hand gestures. With both Chris and Otabek (he was fucking robbed) gone, only he and JJ were left to deal with the horrible fall out of their two choreographers.

 

It had gotten so bad that the audience was noticing. And Yuri wasn’t happy with being upstaged by “trouble in paradise” talks everywhere he looked. He couldn’t even look at cat videos in peace anymore. The fucking dance show was about him, not them. If they wanted all this crap about them online, they should have just set up their own horrible reality show, and stop wasting everyone’s time.

 

He delayed it a week, but it was time to carry the plan out. He would start with the old man, who just happened to be sitting on a bench outside the studio like a brooding statue. As Yuri approached, making no effort to conceal his frustrated stomping, Victor lifted his head. Yuri was greeted with the usual blank expression, but with a hint of annoyance.

 

Good, then he knew just what Yuri wanted.

 

“Get your shit together, old man. I don't know or care who started it, but you’ve got a show to run. Act like it!”

 

Okay, so maybe he was going a little off-script.

 

The silver-haired moron had the audacity to look sheepish. “Ah, I’m sure you must be hallucinating Yurio, everything is fine between Katsuki and I,” Victor pensively smiled at Yuri.

 

He didn’t know what annoyed him more, the thrice-damned nickname, the fucking staged smile, or his blatant denial of the conflict between him and Katsuki.

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Victor Nikiforov! My grandpa said there was something going on, and this is the man who didn’t realize I smuggled a cat until a month after. If he can see it, _everyone_ can,” he drawled. “It’s not like you’ll be seeing that talentless pig after the-”

 

“I know!”

 

Yuri’s eyes widened at Victor’s outburst. He was shocked even more by the tears gathering in the corners of watery blue eyes. He didn’t prepare for this.

 

“I-I messed up, okay?” the old man cried, his voice thick. “All I wanted was to make Yuuri happy, to realise his potential. Instead, I assumed he was fine with whatever I gave him, and didn’t think once about how much I was undermining his own goals. I-I scared him away. He must hate me now.

 

 _But I love him_ , went unsaid, but Yuri knew. He wasn’t surprised at all by what Victor had done, but he was shocked by their unestablished relationship all this time.

 

“So you mea-,” he began, before cutting himself off. He didn’t really care. “Y’know what, the fucking finale is tomorrow. You have time. Who knows what Katsuki is really thinking anyway? Fucking face him if you want to know for sure.”

 

Victor stared at him long and hard, calming from his previous state. A small smile creeped its way to his face and hauled Yuri in for a painful hug without warning.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Let go of me, fuckface.”

 

However, he still responded with an awkward hug in acknowledgement. However frustrating this had been, he knew dealing with Katsuki would be much worse. He found him on the roof, looking up at the grey clouds rolling across the LA skyline. He and the old man were making quite the effort to appear as downtrodden as possible. Yuri scoffed, and they thought teenagers were a handful.

 

Over the past few weeks, he and the anxious ball of flexible limbs formed a tentative friendship. He had someone to discuss dance and games with when Otabek was busy, at least. That, and sharing recipes. That said, they never talked about feelings. But at least he could approach him without feeling as awkward as he did with Victor.

 

“Hey, Katsudon!” He waved a paper bag about, “I brought some of grandpa’s katsudon pirozhki!”  

 

Rather than his usual soft greeting, Katsuki stared blankly at the figure before him, before returning his gloomy gaze at the sky. Yuri swore he heard himself twitch. Before he could yell at Katsuki for dismissing him, the raven spoke.

 

“Victor saw my dance here the first time, did you know?” he sighed. “All this time, he just thought of me as a dancer, nothing more.”

 

Oh great, another monologue.

 

“I’ve been looking up at him all this time, since his first movie when I was twelve. Then he went on to become a director, and then I wanted the same too. To be on his level. And I thought I had it… but I didn’t. This was all a game to him, I guess.”

 

Katsuki could only sigh to himself, voice wavering with regret and sadness.

 

He felt bad for him, sure, but Katsuki was a thick-headed moron and needed a good talking to.

 

“I don’t know if you realised this Katsudon, but playing games is the last thing that old man would think of doing, especially when working with you. I don’t get what your deal is, but you dance pretty well, and he saw that. I don't know about all this directing shit, but that’s something you have to talk to him about.”

 

“But Yurio-”

 

Ugh, that fucking nickname again.

 

“But nothing! You two spent all this time being annoyingly in love with one another. No, don’t deny it, you fucking asshat. I’ve seen operas with more secrecy. Anyway, you’re in fucking love. And so is he. And both of you are horrible at communication. Fix it!”

 

The sparkle in Katsuki’s eyes told him he had an idea. He was thrilled and mildly concerned.

 

“Thanks, Yurio, I needed that,” he shot past him, yanking the paper bag out of his grasp. “I have to go!”

 

“Oi! Katsudon I’m not done say-”

 

And slam the door went. Whatever Katsuki had just thought of, it better fix something, if not, everything.

  


* * *

 

  


“What was I thinking?” Yuuri warbled, fidgeting in his costume. From his spot beside him, Phichit smirked.

 

“I think it’s a fantastic plan!” he squealed. “And it’s getting me a front seat on all the action~”

 

“Anything for a friend of Yuuri’s,” Mila smiled. “I’ve always wanted to beat Victor at his own surprise game.” She turned to his friend, “Now, remember that I get a copy of any and all juicy contect you manage to record!”

 

Yuuri shot them a deadpan look, “You’re both horrible people.”

 

‘The worst,” they cheered in unison.

 

Yuuri sighed once more before turning again to Mila. “Um, before I head out, um t-thanks, for all the help.”

 

She smiled, and placed a strong hand on his shoulder, “The world has been calling you the man who stole Victor Nikiforov from the world. Go out there, and show them he’s yours!”

 

Yuuri took a deep breath, he was ready. As the first notes of the song played, all his previous worries left him. In all his sparkling glory, like a majestic swan gliding into the water, Yuuri graced the stage. He would show everyone his love.

 

He just hoped Victor would finally see it.

  


* * *

 

  


**Making History: The Victory on the Dance Floor Finale Surprises in More Ways than One**

 

by JAYNE ROA LYNN YEO

 

Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki shocked the _Victory on the Dance Floor_ audience (and the world) on Sunday when they took the stage together and debut their stunning interpretations of [Victor’s song title] and [Yuuri’s song title] respectively.

 

In a turn of events surprising even the contestants and production crew themselves, the assistant director/co-choreographer challenged Nikiforov to an emotion-packed dance off right before the contest’s winner was announced. With no warning in sight, Katsuki strut onstage in a stunning recreation of Victor’s infamous _Stammi Vicino_ costume and made the Dance Floor his own.

 

Victor was quick to respond with a quick song change and choreography the world had never seen before. This back and forth continued, the only sounds being the interchanging tracks and the dancers’ steps across the stage. And following that, faces flooding in tears, #TheKiss.

 

Since Katsuki’s debut as choreographer halfway through filming of the show, fans have speculated a relationship between him and the Living Legend himself. While both parties were quick to deny such allegations, this finale told the world something else.

 

“No, no!” Katsuki told the audience later that evening. “Victor and I weren’t in a relationship then… but we are now… and I could never find anyone as amazing and-- ah, no please stop screaming!”

 

Nikiforov laughed, slinging an arm around his now-boyfriend, “My Yuuri is just full of surprises, isn’t he?” [read full article here]

 

* * *

  


**VoDOfficial**

[image description: monochrome shot of Yuri raising the golden VoD trophy above his head while confetti rains down above him]

Congratulations to our grand winner _yuri_plisetsky_. You danced your way into our hearts. Go out there and #MakeHistory! #VoD

 

**Yuri_angels**

_VodOfficial_ WE LOVE YOU, YUROTCHKA  <3 <3 <3 #MakeHistory #VoD

 

**Jjleroy!15**

_VodOfficial_ I sure gave you tough competition _yuri_plisetsky_ *wink emoji* Congratulations #JJStyle #MakeHistory

 

**yuri_plisetsky**

[image description: Yuri on the bottom right corner, directing a long-suffering scowl at Victor and Yuuri kissing in the background]

tfw you #MakeHistory and the fucking choreographers upstage you. Get off my fucking stage #victuuri #VoD

 

**v-nikiforov**

_yuri_plisetsky_ is that our ship name hashtag I see? I knew you loved us <3  <3 <3 #victuuri

 

**yuri_plisetsky**

_v-nikiforov_ FUCK YOU

 

**yurikatsuki**

_yuri_plisetsky_ believe me, i will *wink emoji*

 

**phichit+chu**

[image description: Phichit holding up a sign that reads “I posted bad things on the Internet pretending to be my friend, and I’m sorry :(“. He does not look sorry.]

Hello, Internet Land! Our dancing darling _yurikatsuki_ wouldn’t talk to me until I gave a public apology. So here it is.

 

**phichit+chu**

[image description: a scowling Yuri flanked either side by Victor and Yuuri. To his left, Victor has his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, staring at him shamelessly. To his right, Yuuri is mildly alcohol flushed and grinning.]

Congratulations on a great first season _VoDOfficial_ ! Congratulations for making history _yuri_plisetsky_! And congratulations for finally getting some ass #victuuri  <3

 

**yurikatsuki**

[image description: a promotional shot of Yuuri and Victor in a dance studio]

 _v-nikiforov_ and I have a little surprise for you #MakeHistory #Again

 

**phichit+chu**

_yurikatsuki_ Congratulations on your marriage!!!! #victuuri

 

**yurikatsuki**

_phichit+chu_ stop it! This is the seventh time this month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi this is Jayne from getmcrekt and 4Astan on twitter! This is my first fic that I've posted publicly for ages (pls don't bother trying to find my old fics, they are cringey as they are). Hopefully you've enjoyed this fic me and Roa have written for YOI Collab game <3


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